


Back to the Start

by clotpoleofthelord (plantainleaf)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cascest - Freeform, Castiel/Castiel - Freeform, Improbable Pairings, M/M, MultiMisha
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-06
Updated: 2013-08-06
Packaged: 2017-12-22 15:07:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/914678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plantainleaf/pseuds/clotpoleofthelord
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel didn't die in 2014. Lucifer told him he'd have to live through it all again.</p><p>This is where he went first when he went back in time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Back to the Start

Emmanuel isn’t really sure _what_ just happened.

One minute he was sitting on the couch, staring down at the casserole Daphne left him when she left to visit her sister. He doesn’t eat, generally, but sometimes he tries, especially if she makes something and looks at him with those big green eyes that remind him of... something.

And the next minute he’s flat on his back, casserole forgotten, as a stranger with his face and a wide, gummy grin looks down at him from where he’s straddling Emmanuel’s hips.

Emmanuel’s used to things happening unexpectedly; it’s pretty much been par for the course since he wandered into Daphne’s path six months ago. But this is a little more surprising than knowing Latin or how to hold a sword. He’d put it pretty much equal with learning that he can heal with a touch.

The man in his lap is staring at him, still smiling with bright eyes and rumpled clothes. He’s barefoot and lean, leaner than Emmanuel himself, and his hair is unruly and falling in his eyes.

Emmanuel notes with detachment the scars on his chest, peeking through the low V of his shirt, and the crows’ feet at his eyes, deeper than Emmanuel’s own. _A brother, maybe? Do I have a brother?_

The man bends down, hands sliding up Emmanuel’s torso until they cup around the back of his neck, then presses his lips to Emmanuel’s own.

Emmanuel feels a spark of desire shoot through him and the other man’s groin presses into his. He lets out a hushed whimper as thumbs brush just behind his ears and can’t help rocking his hips up against the pressure on his lap.

A low chuckle escapes the man, and he pulls away just a millimeter. “Hi there, Emmanuel.”

His voice is low, gravely, like Emmanuel’s own but with an extra layer of heat and something that curls low in Emmanuel’s stomach.

“I’m Cas. You don’t know me yet. Or anymore. Something like that.”

“You-” Emmanuel gasps as Cas rocks against him, then tries valiantly to rally his thoughts into coherance, “-you knew me?” His hands have come up of their own volition to flutter at the hem of Cas’s shirt, brushing lightly over the sliver of skin there. He’s been close to other people before, he knows it, Heck, Daphne hugs him close or kisses his cheek or strokes his hair almost daily. But it’s never felt anything like this. There’s a fire building in him, something dark and warm and bright all at once, and it’s centered on this stranger, this Cas, hovering above him.

Cas chuckles again, and answers the question Emmanuel had already forgotten he’d asked. “It’s complicated. This is more fun than explanations, don’t you think?” His hand slides down, squeezing between them and deftly opening Emmanuel’s khakis with a flick of a thumb. He braces his knees on the couch on either side of Emmanuel and yanks, sliding Emmanuel’s pants and boxers down in one quick twist and lift, and Emmanuel feels Cas’s abdominal muscles contract against him, all lean sinew and graceful movement, and suddenly he’s naked from the waist down and Cas is opening the buttons of his shirt and sliding hands across his chest.

All Emmanuel can do is feebly push at Cas’s shirt until the other man strips it from himself and tosses it aside. It lands half in the casserole but somehow Emmanuel can’t find it in himself to care, because now Cas’s pants are shimmying off and they’re naked, flesh against flesh, damp, sweaty skin against its mirror.

He was right, Cas was thinner, harsher, with sharp angles of bone and cords of muscle wrapping around. There’s a faint circular scar around his chest with lines and enochian characters and it stirs something in Emmanuel that he doesn’t have the time or attention to examine now. He also has tattoos, what look like feathers wrapping around his shoulders and biceps and ribs and Emmanuel assumes they reach across his back but can’t quite see.

And then Cas presses him into the couch with a sinuous movement and Emmanuel loses all ability to think, overwhelmed with sensation and heat.

Cas’s lips are against his neck and shoulder, biting and sucking and marking and Emmanuel knows somewhere deep down that he’ll have to explain the marks to Daphne but his cock lines up in the channel of Cas’s hip and groin and he can’t care about that either. Everything is fast and strong and moving and the sparks building in his abdomen feel like supernovas about to burst, and his back arches as Cas fastens teeth around his earlobe and fingers press bruises into the flesh of his buttocks and he overflows, spilling what feels like gallons of hot liquid between them.

Cas buries his head in Emmanuel’s neck, holding him close, more tenderly than before, and thrusts once, twice, three times before stiffening for a second and adding his own release to the heat and wet between them, then going limp against Emmanuel’s chest and neck.

Emmanuel breathes, basking in the soft, contented feelings soaking through him. His heartrate is slowing back to normal, and he absently wraps his arms around the man above him, burying fingers in the thick hair and craning his neck to examine the tattooed wings spreading across his back. When he strokes a finger down the edge of one, feeling the slightly raised, ridged edges, Cas stiffens and pulls away, standing quickly.

He looks lost, unsure for the first time in the hour he’s been in the house, and Emmanuel sits up and reaches towards him automatically, feeling the force of whatever it was that lets him heal the sick surging in his veins. His fingers brush Cas’s and Cas shudders again, standing stiffly, and a tear leaks from one eyes to slide down his face. Then another, and Emmanuel stands as well, feeling pulls upright, and again pulls Cas into his arms. “It’s all right,” he says. “Let me do this. I can heal you. It will be all right.”

Cas gives a wet huff of laughter but presses his face into the crook of Emmanuel’s shoulder. “Will it? Can you?”

 Emmanuel just pulls him closer and is silent.


End file.
